


Richie and Eddie Were Here

by vvinterhavvk



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Getting Together, Growing Up Together, M/M, Modern Era, no pennywise, parks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-03-11 15:45:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13527453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvinterhavvk/pseuds/vvinterhavvk
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak is leaving for college tomorrow. He's leaving his best friend, Richie, and the park where they grew up, behind; but he has things to do first. Eddie and Richie embark on one final adventure in an attempt to pick up the pieces they've left strewn throughout their little hometown before they part ways, and end up finding even more.





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> slow burn? that takes place in one night? cool.
> 
> this is the first reddie fic i've ever written so if i butchered the characters feel free to yell at me in the comments.
> 
> the basic idea for this story is that chapter one is a prologue, chapter two is "evening", chapter three is "midnight" and chapter four is "morning and goodbye". i'm going to try my best to get one up each week, as i had a lot of fun writing this. i've already started evening! hope you enjoy what's here! :)

There is a park just in the edge of the city limits of Derry, Maine. Not far enough away from the city to get anywhere near the Hanlon or Bowers farms, but enough so that Eddie Kaspbrak had come to realize its full potential as a good place to hide away from the adults of the town, mainly his overbearing mother.

The park was old and was probably more rust than anything else; anything resembling the normal metal of a slide or monkey bars were covered in the brownish red that Eddie still refused to touch, afraid of the diseases it could carry. Not a single part of the park was in good shape, either, the merry-go-round teetering to one side no matter what way you pushed it, what Eddie thinks may have once been a suspension bridge between two of the structures now only holds four strips of metal, barely enough to make it from one side to the next, and creepy animals on springs that rock back and forth in the wind, the steel creaking with every little movement. There is even a tall wooden post with a rope that may have once been white attached to it, the ends frayed where a tether ball must have been.

Eddie was quite fond of the post, despite it not having any real attractive features on it. It was covered top to bottom in words that were carved or written in with marker; bold statements such as “DERRY SUCKS” or “A.M.+D.H. 4EVR”.

While the tetherball post was cool, Eddie’s favorite was the swingset.

The swings had their fair share of rust, but Eddie was able to avoid it if he sat down carefully on the seat, his shorts pulled down his thighs as far as they could go, without exposing his underwear, so they wouldn’t touch the metal, and held onto the chain in a very specific spot where no rust had started to form. In this calculated position, Eddie could kick away from the ground easily, his sneakers digging into the dirt underneath the swings and his head tilting back to look at the sky. Sometimes, if he was feeling particularly rebellious, and if he was positive no one was around and that Sonia Kasprak hadn’t followed him, he would push and pull until he was swinging as high as he could go, and then, with one last powerful push, would jump off as the swing reached his peak. He had never quite been able to stick the landing as well as someone who would’ve grown up doing exactly that, someone without a mother who held their son on a tight leash, in the far nicer park in town, but Eddie liked to think that he wasn’t _awful_ at it, either, only sometimes scraping his knees or his palms into the dirt. More than once Eddie has had to talk his way out of explaining the bruises on his knees and the scrapes on the balls of his hands, citing crawling on his bedroom floor looking for books or slipping in the shower (he was only allowed to take baths for a few weeks after using that excuse).

The park held a special place in Eddie’s heart, the only place where Eddie did not feel _completely_ tied down to his hypochondriac tendencies. Only on the walk home did the anxiety begin to set in, wondering whether or not he had touched too much rust, or if one of the cuts on his knees had picked up some bacteria from the ground. Sneaking into his room was an ordeal and a half, usually, the tears quick to come if he was feeling particularly anxious, not wanting his mother to see him coming in with scrapes on his knees and hands.

But, sometimes, Eddie was not alone at the park or the walk home- another person with Eddie who dared to cross the pitiful bridge, his hands outstretched on either side of him, his long legs hitting the planks that Eddie couldn’t. Another person to go down the slide that Eddie refused to touch, afraid of tetanus. Someone who stood on the swing when he was bored, or jumped off higher than Eddie could, landing perfectly every time, and when he was feeling nice, standing behind and pushing Eddie, or tugging the chains close and blowing raspberries into his neck.

Eddie met Richie Tozier on his favorite swing set when they were twelve years old.

Eddie had been crying about something or other, holding tightly onto the chains of the swing on the right, the one that would eventually become _his_ , the other Richie’s, his knuckles turning white. He was still so tiny (which he would remain, but that was beside the point), the toes of his white sneakers just brushing the dirt. He hadn’t been going to the park for very long, had discovered it a month or so before when he had been avoiding going home from school and had been riding his bike around town, but had yet to see anyone else there.

The hot, salty tears streamed down his face and landed on his thighs, while dark clouds loomed overhead to warn of the oncoming rain. It wasn’t long before Richie showed up.

He had pulled up on his beaten and nearly destroyed bike, his glasses just as huge on his twelve year old face as they were on his eighteen year old one, his hair a mess and his shirt too big and patterned with hawaiian flowers and parrots.

Richie’s first words to Eddie were: “Why the fuck are you crying?” and they were off.

Eddie, in return, told Richie to fuck off, the first time he had ever said a swear word aloud, and it felt _good_ , which made Richie call him a baby, hopping off his bike and approaching the swing set with all the swagger a pre-teen could muster. Eddie yelled back, “ _you_ ’ _re_ a baby!” Richie, not one to back down easily, especially to _babies_ who cried on swing sets, said “that’s not what your mom said last night!”

That just made Eddie cry even harder, which made Richie grasp the situation suddenly, and the air between them change.

His hands over his eyes, Eddie didn’t notice Richie climbing onto the swing next to him, standing on the seat and holding onto the chains, what would eventually become a trademark move, not caring about the rust underneath his fingers. Richie started talking and didn’t stop, not for a few minutes, or days, or weeks or months or years. Eddie doesn’t think that Richie has taken a breath since that first rainy afternoon. “I’m Richard Tozier, but only adults call me Richard, you can call me Richie, not Dick, and maybe Rich, if I like you. We’ll see how the night goes. Hey, maybe I’ll let you call me Dick if the first date goes well, eh?”

Eddie had hiccuped, then cracked a smile at Richie. “I’m Eddie. You can call me Eddie.”

“Whatever you say, Eddie-Spaghetti,” Richie had teased, smiling from ear to ear, his glasses slipping down his nose. He had leaned down, the swing creaking, and Eddie had reached out to slap him.

Eddie hated nicknames. But it didn’t sound so bad in Richie’s mouth.

They were inseparable after that, walking to and from school together, spending free time at their park under the sun, with swear words and insults tossed back and forth, only half meaning them. Outsiders might think that they hated each other. When Richie pushed, Eddie would shove. If Eddie yelled, Richie would yell louder. But somehow, at the end of the day, when they would meet up at the park long after dark, swears turned into whispers and insults turned into soft confessions about their deepest darkest anxieties.

A memorable shift was on Eddie’s fifteenth birthday, when he received a text at 11:29 pm, a simple _park?_ , one word from the one person who mattered. Eddie had crawled out of his bedroom window, his heart beating loudly in his ears as he thought about falling, breaking all of his bones in his body, or what would happen if his mother caught him. And on the way there, the anxieties worsened, every shadow from his bike becoming the shadow of a monster coming to get him, and every sound of a bird in a tree a police officer ready to take him to jail. But they slipped away like blood dripping from a wound, one that was finally turning into a scab, when he pulled into the park at 11:58. Richie was standing on his swing, the one on the left, his arms stretched out as he leaned back, staring at the moon.

When Eddie approached, leaving his bike leaned up against a nearby tree, Richie finally noticed him, greeting him with a cheery “Eds!” and a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on the neck. Richie bit him fifteen times _exactly_ , and as he did so, the clock on Eddie’s phone changed from 11:59 pm to 12:00 am, unbeknownst to the teenagers in the quiet park. It was Eddie’s birthday no more.

That was the first of many times they would meet up randomly in the middle of the night, often times long after midnight, when Eddie was starting to feel claustrophobic in his little bedroom, or when Richie got into another argument with his parents, pushing one too many buttons.

Eddie could remember, staying so late one night, that they watched the sun rise. That was the night that Eddie confessed that his hypochondria was getting worse with age. That was the night that Richie got quiet, didn’t say much at all. But instead he held Eddie close, told him that it didn’t matter, that he’d keep him safe no matter what. _That_ was what mattered, in the end.

Eddie had told Richie that he loved him, in between tears and hiccups. Richie had hushed him, whispering something that could’ve been “I know,” or “I love you too.”

They’d grown up, in this park, somewhere along the line. It went by in such a blur, between the teasing and the stupid nicknames and the hypotheticals, that Eddie hadn’t even noticed that they were _leaving_ soon. It felt like just days ago Eddie was jumping off the swing for the first time, kicking Richie in the face and breaking his glasses.

That was when they were fourteen.

Eddie laughed to himself, now, thinking about it, even though he had cried when he had been in the moment. Richie’s nose didn’t stop bleeding until they reached the Tozier household, when Richie started to craft a heroic story about how he had saved Eddie from Henry Bowers and his gang for his father, who had started telling him recently that he needed to _man up_. That was the story that everyone else at school heard too, which really gave Rich the boost of confidence that he didn’t need.

Still, they were old. Richie had gotten as tall as the tetherball post and maybe a little taller, while Eddie had peaked at 5’5. Richie’s voice was deep and his hands were big and his nose still a little crooked, so his glasses didn’t quite sit right, but he had grown into his looks. He was still the same Richie, though, the same pair of glasses taped in three different spots and his hair still shaggy and curling up at his neck. He even had some of the same clothes, but they fit him a little better now, the hawaiian shirts just as ugly and the band tees still retro.

Although Eddie was older by a few months, no one would be able to tell. He was small and scrawny, even at eighteen years old, and made sure his hair was cut nicely and kept clean. He wore polos and his shoes were always white. By all means, Eddie and Richie looked like they would hate each other, not be best friends.

Thinking about this, now, Eddie hopped off his bike and leaned it against the tree like he always did, and paused for a moment to look at Richie, like he always did, then approached his friend on the swing. Like he always did.

The bars holding up the swing creaked underneath Richie’s weight, not built for holding a 6’5 eighteen year old who preferred to stand on swings instead of sitting on them like a normal person.

The sun was setting, behind them, which meant that this was an unusual time for them to meet up here, as it was an unusual circumstance.

Eddie plopped down in the spot next to Rich, placing his hands in their usual spot on the chains, leaning back to mirror Richie, staring up towards the sky that was fading to pink, one or two stars starting to glitter into existence above them. They were silent for a little while, both afraid that the first words passed between them would signal the end that neither wanted to come.

Richie spoke first, taking in a shaky breath right before the words came. “I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow.”

Eddie couldn’t believe it either. It felt as though the end of the world as they knew it was coming, meteors crashing into the earth and all the technology seizing to work; the whole nine.

They’d had this night planned for months now. Richie wasn’t leaving for New York for a few more days, but Eddie was heading to the west coast tomorrow. _Tomorrow_.

People always sing about how they wished tomorrow would come. Eddie didn’t want today to _end_.

Richie kept talking. He did that when he was anxious. “World, Eddie Kaspbrak.” Richie jumped off the swing and set his hands on Eddie’s shoulders, pushing him back and forth. “Eddie Kaspbrak, world.”

There was a distant sound of a car honking from town.

Eddie looked over his shoulder at Richie. “The world fucking sucks.”

Laughing, Richie proceeded to shove Eddie again. This time, Eddie planted his tennis shoes into the dirt, stopping the swing. The bars heaved when Eddie stood, turning to look at his friend. Eddie gave Rich a long, sad look.

Richie just shrugged his shoulders up and down in a _what can you do?_   kind of way. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Eddie stepped away from the swing, folding his arms over his chest. Eddie imagined his face at this moment, wondering whether or not it looked as sad as he felt. Richie’s expression softened when his eyes landed on Eddie, the corners of his mouth turning crooked and his eyes getting fond.

“Don’t look at _me_ like that,” Eddie spat, shoving at Richie’s chest when he goes to wrap his arms around his friend. Richie makes gross smooching noises towards him, aiming for his cheeks and the sides of his face. Richie was playful again.

Richie backed off, standing at arms length away from Eddie. “Com off et, luv! Yew know yew like me!” Eddie groaned when Richie started doing his cockney impression, turning away from him and looking at the rest of the park.

Unlike Richie and Eddie, the park hadn’t changed at all in six years. More rust, maybe, and perhaps more carvings on the post that neither of them had left, but otherwise, there were no visible differences. The merry-go-round was still teetering to one side off to the right of the slides, and the monkey bars looks like they would fall apart if someone climbed on them. Richie could cross the bridge between the two playground structures, despite there barely being a bridge to cross, and was too big for the spring riders, yet had one or two funny videos of himself falling off of them.

Sighing, Eddie unfolded his arms and started moving towards their bikes. “Come on, we have a lot to do tonight. This is just the first stop.”


	2. evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They make it to destination one and two. Richie is sad, Eddie is confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took a little longer to write than i had hoped for, sorry. i went into a depressive episode around wednesday and couldn't get much writing done
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Richie and Eddie were probably single-handedly keeping the arcade economy alive.

They’d been going there together since the winter after they first met, when it got too cold to hide away in the park, but Richie had been frequenting long before that. Rich would go when his parents got too much to handle, even for a ten year old, gathering all the change he could find in the couch cushions and heading into town on the bike he could barely ride at that point to play _Donkey Kong_ or _Dig-Dug_. He eventually got himself the high score on just about every machine in the place by the time he was fourteen, save for a few.

“Because _Macho Mouse_ is a bullshit fucking game and you know it,” was Richie’s response one day, when Eddie had asked him about it. Eddie thinks that maybe he was just jealous of the mysterious BEV, who held the top four score spots.

There was very rarely anyone else in the arcade besides them, usually just the bored creep behind the counter who tried to get them to set him up with girls from their school once or twice. So it was nice, to say the least, when they were kids and they would stumble in with all the change they had managed to dig up out of cushions or their laundry, bee-lining for a game that Richie had not yet conquered. Eddie wasn’t very good at the games, although Rich had tried to teach him the basics for some of the two player ones, and didn’t like touching the gross buttons and knobs, so he was contempt to just watch Richie kick ass and take names. There was something magical about the way Richie’s fingers could move between buttons effortlessly, and how he knew exactly how to turn knob, even on  _Pac-Man_ ’s, which sometimes got stuck turned to the left if you moved too quickly or too hard. It reminded Eddie of how Richie got when he played the piano, all solemn and focused, all his energy put towards his hands. 

They approached the run-down building, now, walking towards it with their bikes at their sides. The OPEN sign outfront blinked in and out, reminding Eddie that it would be closing in a few hours. Eddie had the sinking feeling that after he and Rich left, it wouldn’t be staying open for much longer. Period. 

The silence between them was heavy, not at all comfortable.The entire walk from the park Eddie kept waiting for Richie to make some dumb joke about Eddie’s mom, or to cast light upon the situation they were in, but nothing came.

Once they were in the empty parking lot, leaning their bikes up against the brick wall, Eddie poked Richie’s side. “You’re scaring me, Rich.”

“I’m just thinking about how awesome it’ll feel to kick your ass at _Mortal Kombat_ one last time,” Rich said, a wide smile on his handsome face. You’d have to know him really well to tell that the smile wasn’t genuine.

Eddie rolled his eyes as he pushed the door open. Keith was behind the prize counter like he always was, staring at his phone screen and eating from a giant bag of cheetos.

Richie saluted him. “Heya, Big Keith! What’ll you do without our beautiful mugs around here to brighten your days?”

Keith didn’t even bother looking up at them. “Maybe I’ll retire.” His voice was monotone.

Eddie moved further into the arcade, approaching the _Mortal Kombat_ machine just because he knew it would make Richie happy. Richie continued to pester Keith, though. “Aw, come on Big Keith, you’re not a day over thirty-four.”

This made Eddie snort. Keith wasn’t much older than them, probably about twenty-one, but had long greasy hair, acne, a permanent frown, and wrinkles on his forehead and around his mouth because of it. Eddie was fairly certain that Keith hated them.

Once Eddie made it to the machine, he called back to Richie. “Come on, Rich, you can pester him more after tonight.”

When Richie appeared, he looked sadder. He’d be remaining in Derry for four more days after Eddie, and didn’t like to be reminded of that fact. Once Eddie was gone, the places they always went to together would now only be inhabited by Richie. The images of Richie sitting by himself in their park, or getting another record without anyone to celebrate with sat uncomfortably in Eddie’s stomach. Not seeing Richie’s stupid glasses everyday was going to be a culture shock.

Frowning, Eddie shoved at Rich’s shoulder. “I’m sorry-”

Eddie was cut off by the sound of Richie digging through his pockets for change. “It doesn’t matter. How much money we got?”

Eddie emptied his own pockets. Together, they had $1.87. Enough for just a few games until they had to move on.

Richie gathered all of the quarters, taking the dimes, nickels, and pennies, putting them into the pocket on his hawaiian shirt. He methodically put two into the slots, passing the rest to Eddie for safe keeping. The game started up without Rich even turning to look at his companion.

The music of the character select screen felt like a funeral march. Richie immediately moved the joystick over to Jade, who was his favorite character and who Richie played the best.

Richie used to play as Sub-Zero, way back when they were twelve, but then they turned fourteen and realized that girls didn’t have cooties like they had been first led to believe. “She’s sexy, ain’t she Eds?” was what Richie had told Eddie that first time Eddie saw him play Jade. “Look at those legs.”

Eddie remembered looking at the sprite and not seeing anything special about the green dress-like thing and the dumb fans. Hell, she didn’t even show her mouth. What was the sex appeal?

Later, Richie had showed Eddie the version of Jade in the most recent  _Mortal Kombat_ games. Less clothing, more boob, a sword instead of the fans. A stupid green thing that didn’t even resemble a dress anymore showed off the tits that were barely being contained. Richie had been smitten ever since.

_Sub-Zero is still cooler,_ Eddie thought distantly, cleaning off the joystick with his t-shirt before placing his hand on it and moving it down once, pressing the A button to confirm. _He’ll always_ _be the coolest_.

Both boys exhaled slowly as the announcer spoke. Round One.

Fight.

Richie was in his element, kicking into gear faster than Eddie ever would. He landed an uppercut, then sent the fans flying twice. With each splatter of blood, Eddie flinched uncomfortably. Before Eddie could even manage to get one kick in, the first round had essentially already been lost. With one final press of the A button, Richie gave a satisfied laugh as Jade kicked, killing Sub-Zero easily.

**JADE WINS** stared dauntingly down at Eddie, but before he could even make a snarky comment, round two was starting.

Richie always had a different approach to the second round, backing away from Sub-Zero, trying to draw Eddie in tauntingly.

It usually worked, and today was no exception. Eddie moved forward in time for Richie to pounce like a snake, striking blow after blow, blood flying. He watched helplessly as Richie mercilessly sent him down to zero health, then dealt the fatality. Jade removed her green mask, kissing the cheek of a helpless Sub-Zero, causing him to inflate and explode, bones and blood covering Eddie’s half of the screen.

Eddie sympathized with his character.

Looking over at Richie, Eddie huffed. “Screw you.” His cheeks felt warm, for reasons that Eddie didn’t want to think about at the moment. 

“Get good, Eddie-Spaghetti.” Richie smiled at his friend, and it was genuine. “Maybe in Cali they’ll have a decent arcade and you’ll train with the masters. Show me up when you return.”

Something in Eddie’s chest fluttered, working its way into his throat so it felt like he might throw up. He was afraid he wouldn’t be seeing that smile tonight, the one Richie saves for Eddie. Still, Eddie swallowed it down. “Don’t call me that,” said Eddie, tightly. “I don’t think any arcade will beat this one.”

It felt brutally honest. Keith may be an ass, and they might be the only ones keeping this place from its inevitable doom, but it was still the best place in Derry. Right down to the mysterious stains in the carpet and the ugly memories of yelling at each other over a dumb game. 

Something soft crossed Richie’s features. He still wasn’t looking at Eddie, instead staring numbly at the screen, which had returned to the main menu, waiting for them to put the quarters in. “Yeah. I bet all the arcades in Los Angeles are full of hipsters.”

Eddie itched closer to Richie, their shoulders brushing. “You’d fit right in,” Eddie teased, gazing up and down at Richie’s choice of clothing. His hair was getting long and unruly, would probably have to be cut down short before he moved to NYC, and his glasses were due to be fixed or replaced entirely, one of the temples taped to the end piece and one of the nose pads gone completely, resulting in the glasses being tipped slightly on Richie’s face. He wore one of his signature hawaiian shirts over a t-shirt that said “ _Ludwig Van BAEthoven_ ” that Eddie had gotten him for Christmas, paired with black jeans that Eddie suspects Richie ripped himself and dirty white sneakers. Richie could make any outfit look good, even with the wild sense of style.

Feeling his cheeks going pink, Eddie quickly returned his gaze to the screen.

Richie slapped a hand across his chest. “You wound me, Spaghetti.”

“Rich.  _ Stop _ ,” Eddie pleaded, shoving two more quarters at him.

Eddie felt Richie shift next to him. He couldn’t bring himself to look, but knew that Richie’s eyes were on him now. Richie took the change silently, his fingers brushing against Eddie’s palm, leaving a feeling of static in their place when he pulled away.

They played two more games, Richie winning both of them, before they turned away from their favorite cabinet for good. Eddie thought about having a sentimental moment with it, before deciding that that might be a bit too far. That didn’t stop Richie from giving it a sentimental pat on its top as he turned away, more of a ‘see you later’ than a proper ‘goodbye’.

Once at the front, Richie saluted Keith and walked out the door without another word. Eddie stayed back, hovering around where Keith sits above the prizes, clearly ready to close up after they leave.

Eddie waited, ready for Keith to say something, but nothing came. “Well,” he started, “bye Keith.”

Keith doesn’t look up from his bag of cheetos, but speaks directly to Eddie for what feels like maybe the first time. “I always liked you better than the other one.”

It’s not much, but it warms Eddie’s heart. He salutes, something he has never done before, then walks out of the doors to where Richie is waiting.

“You flirting with Big Keith?”

Eddie scoffs, moving to his bike and getting on. “I have standards, Richard.” In a flash, Eddie kicks up the kickstand with his heel and pushes off from the sidewalk, leaving Richie blinking after him. “Last one there has to jump first!”

Richie, grinning a mad and wild grin, hops onto his bike and quickly follows his friend. “Oh, you’re  _ on,  _ Kaspbrak!”

**_____________**

The sun is completely gone from the sky, leaving a painting of pinks and yellows in its wake.

Richie pulls up next to Eddie, gasping for breath. “Since when were you faster than me?”

Eddie had been waiting patiently for the last twenty seconds for Richie to appear in the clearing, admiring the colors and cloud formations in the sky. “We’ve never raced,” Eddie said, shrugging and watching Richie lean his bike up against a tree. “I’ve been faster than you this whole time.”

Richie pushed his glasses further up his nose. “Unfair.”

They approached the cliffside together, shoulder to shoulder. Eddie could count the number of times they had come here together on his hands, and on one the amount of times Eddie had even jumped. 

They came mostly when they were thirteen, after they had first discovered it, then a few times when they were fourteen, but the last time Eddie had been was nearly a year ago, when he was seventeen. Richie liked to bring girls, thought it was a perfect spot to hide away from adults while staying far away from their park, but Eddie also suspected that Richie liked to show off his body. Girls had swarmed Richie, once they reached high school, as he got taller and his voice got deeper, and they stopped liking the Leonardo DiCaprio types they see in movies and started to turn towards the lovable scruffy guys like Richie. He loved the attention, and girls liked being serenaded and taken on romantic dates to the arcade and cliff jumping.

Eddie, meanwhile, just got more anxious and afraid of what lay in the murky depths below, so he didn’t jump much after the first summer. Richie had some sort of passive understanding of the worsening hypochondria as they got older, never making Eddie jump, letting him watch from far above as Richie paddled around in the water.

They stood at the edge, the backs of their hands brushing. Eddie’s heart beat loudly in his chest for a number of reasons, and he was certain that Rich could hear it from where he stood now.

Swiftly, Richie shrugged off the hawaiian shirt, then the t-shirt, then his shoes and socks, then his jeans, leaving him in his red plaid boxers and passing the clothes to Eddie. Eddie felt his neck and cheeks get warm, watching Richie stretch with his arms over his head with his back slightly arched. Eddie’s eyes wander over what is already familiar, clutching the clothes far tighter than he should be.

Richie takes a few steps back, eyes moving between Eddie and the cliffside.

“Be careful, Rich,” Eddie says warily. 

Winking, Richie says, “I’ll see you at the bottom, Eds!” then takes a running leap, jumping over the edge with as much grace as you could possibly imagine Richie having.

Eddie dropped to his knees, leaning over the edge, throwing his anxiety over the edge after Richie, watching his friend land in the water, a loud _whoop!_ getting cut short. He waits, holding his breath, for an agonizing sixteen seconds, for Richie to break the surface. All of the possibilities run through Eddie’s mind at once, alarms blaring and lights flashing in his brain.

But then Richie came up, just a dark head and pale skin from so far away, but Eddie could perfectly picture the shit eating grin and the lopsided glasses placed precariously on his nose.

“The water is fine, Eds!” Richie yelled, floating on his back and waving an arm back and forth.

Eddie knew that Richie wouldn’t be upset if he didn’t jump. But Eddie also knew that this was their last chance.

Taking a deep breath, Eddie placed Richie’s clothes on the cliff’s edge next to him. Eddie sat up, slowly kicking off his shoes and socks, then stood, tugging his shirt over his head, followed by his shorts. Eddie stared over the edge, admiring a peaceful-looking Richie in the water.

Eddie thought about all the bacteria in the water. Eddie thought about cutting open his feet and legs on rocks or glass. He thought of the girls that come with Richie, and of whatever it was they got up to while they were here.

Eddie thought about Richie, took a deep breath, and jumped.

There was a brief few seconds of cold air, rushing wind, and _ohmygodohmygodohmygod_ , and then just cold water, the distant sound of Richie laughing, and his brain screaming _YOU’RE GOING TO DIE_.

He didn’t though, his head breaking the surface. Eddie gasped for breath, positive he was having a panic attack, and compulsively reached for the fanny pack that he stopped carrying four years ago, wishing for the first time in a while that he had an inhaler.

Richie was next to him in seconds. “Hey, you okay?”

The air around them was quiet, and the sky was getting darker as stars appeared. Richie looked beautiful up close, his glasses perched on his head, pushing his hair back and showing off the spattering of freckles across his face. Concern sat deeply in his features. It wasn’t a good look on him.

Eddie blinked. Once, twice, five times before he found what he wanted to say. His breaths were normal, now, but his heart was still beating wildly as he stared at the man in front of him. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

The grin that spread across Richie’s face rivaled the sun. “Glad to hear it, Spaghetti! I’m proud of you, you know.” He playfully shoved at Eddie’s shoulder.

“That’s not my name.” Eddie shoved back, harder. Richie reached forward pushing Eddie back into the water, which led to Eddie jumping up and latching onto Richie, pulling him into the water with him.

They both went under laughing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: tenlittle-cockbites


	3. midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stop between two and three adds new problems. We meet some familiar faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting!!
> 
> consisyent writing style? idk her
> 
> The quote: “Adieu, adieu, adieu. Remember me” is a reference to Hamlet. It is the last thing that the ghost of hamlet’s father says to him.
> 
> ALSO  
> there are some spacing issues that i will fix tomorrow morning when i have a computer. ignore them if you are reading this while its not fixed! thanks!
> 
> ALSO PART 2  
> you’ll notice that i added another chapter!! it will be an epilogue. it felt too cruel with the ending i have currently

The ground underneath them is uncomfortable, but the sky above is stunning. It’s almost purple, even, and littered with stars and far away planets that Eddie can’t name. He hadn’t registered how tired he had gotten until he and Richie climbed back to where their clothes were and they collapsed onto the ground, barely even dressed.

  
Richie had already smoked through four cigarettes, every few minutes offering Eddie a drag.  
Eddie doesn’t smoke, and doesn’t like when Richie does, but wouldn’t say anything about it tonight. Instead, Eddie lay on his back, shoulder to shoulder with his best friend, staring up at the stars and making their own constellations. They’d done that for as long as they’d known eachother, but within a few nights they would forget their names and their spots in the sky. Richie knew a lot of constellations anyway, pointing out Orion, or Aquilla, or any other one, when silence would fall between them; heavy like the stars themselves.

  
Turning his head to look at Richie, who was staring solemnly up at the stars, Eddie said, “do you see that really bright star underneath Jupiter?” Richie had pointed out the big planet twenty minutes before.

  
Richie took another drag and nodded to confirm.

  
Eddie pointed towards the sky, leaning his head close to Richie’s so they could get a similar view of the sky. He could’ve imagined it, but Eddie almost thought he heard Richie’s breath hitch as he released the smoke into the air. “Well if you look next to it, there’s a cluster of stars that kind of form two circles, and under those there’s an arch.”

  
Richie was silent for a few seconds before he laughed to himself. “A sad face.” Rich finally looked over at his Eddie, who mirrored their friend in the sky.

  
“I call it the Richie constellation.”

  
The man himself chuckled for a few more seconds before it dissipated. He was no longer shining like the stars.

  
Eddie dropped his hand so it rested against Richie’s bare chest, rolling over onto his side and sneaking closer so his front was up against his friends’ side. “Rich-”

  
Before Eddie could finish, Richie was pointing up at the sky with his arm that wasn’t underneath Eddie and was holding the cigarette. “You see saturn?”

  
Eddie wasn’t looking at the sky anymore, but nodded anyway. “Mhm.”

  
“So underneath that and to the right is Alphard. That’s the first star in the constellation Hydra.” He pauses, takes a drag, then stubs out the cigarette somewhere above his head, leaving his arm resting above them. “It’s the biggest in the observable solar system.”  
Humming, Eddie’s hand moved up to the side of Richie’s face. His hair was soft, unlike the road underneath them, which was hard and covered in little rocks that dug into Eddie’s exposed skin. Eddie thought that Richie was remarkably beautiful in the moonlight, laying in the middle of the road like this, his glasses sitting high on his nose, crooked like they always were, and his hair still a little damp but still curly and wild and splayed out around their heads. Richie continued to rattle off facts about Hydra as Eddie stared at him, either not caring or not noticing their proximity. Eddie realized that he didn’t care about Richie’s trashmouth, or his dumb sense of style, or even the stupid nicknames.

  
“It’s beautiful,” said Eddie, cutting off whatever Richie was saying.

  
Their noses bumped as Richie turned too quickly, blinking fast. “Yeah, it is.”

  
If Eddie leaned in, just a few inches, their lips would touch. And if Richie moved, too, they would go even further, past the lips and down to the core.

  
Eddie would be lying if he said his heart rate wasn’t going wild, and that he had subconsciously looked for the inhaler in his pocket. It would also be a lie to say he hadn’t leaned forward, only for the sound of a car coming to make both boys jump and pull away, scrambling towards their bikes at the edge of the cliff into the quarry.

  
The car passes by, the lights coming into view and then over the hill and out of sight.  
The only sound that remains after the car disappears is their heavy breathing, Richie and Eddie afraid to look at each other.

  
Something on Eddie’s elbow stings. He starts to feel sick, just thinking about the scrape there and all of the gravel that could have made its way inside. His once nervous breathing turns into hyperventilating as he pulls his arm over his shoulder and his elbow closer to his face as he attempts to get a good look at it. It’s not deep, and Eddie is sure that it wouldn’t affect Richie, or anyone else for that matter, but the sight makes Eddie’s stomach churn.  
“Eds?” Richie says, worriedly. “Eddie?”

  
Eddie feels cold hands on his arm, pushing it down and away from Eddie’s face so he no longer has to look at the blood that drips down it. Richie’s eyes are big but his glasses are pushed up on top of his head now, his expression worried. Their faces are close, but this is more grounding. Eddie feels less like he will float away, now.

  
His elbow still hurts.

  
Tearing himself out of Richie’s grasp and ignoring the hurt look on his face, Eddie moves to where the remainder of their clothes lay and their bikes lean up against the tree. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” He grabs Richie’s t-shirt and Hawaiian shirt and toss it at him, then his socks and sneakers. Richie catches them easily, his eyes trained on his friend.

  
“You’re not okay,” Richie’s voice is muffled by the shirt he is pulling on, “I’m not some mouth-breather at school you can lie to about how you feel when your bare feet accidentally touch the floor of the gym locker rooms!”

  
Eddie hops on one foot as he tugs on his sneakers. He _knows_ Richie isn’t. He can feel his face turning redder than it already was, growing more upset. “Don’t bring that up.”

  
Richie, shrugging on the Hawaiian shirt, moves over to where Eddie stands by the bikes. He reaches out, grabbing Eddie’s shoulders and holding him steady as he manages to pull on the tennis shoe. “We can go back to your house, if you want, we don’t need to go to Greta’s or to Suicide Notes-”

  
A loud thump cuts Richie off as Eddie’s foot lands on the ground without much grace. “No. I’m fine, Richie.”

  
Looking uncertain, Richie lets go of Eddie’s shoulders. “We’re at least going to get a band-aid or something at Greta’s, there’s no way I’m letting you convince yourself that you’re okay.”

  
Eddie could feel the blood running down his arm, and felt light-headed. He knew Richie was right.

  
Before he could say anything, Richie’s electric watch started to beep from his pocket. He pulled it out, pressing one of the side buttons to make it stop.

  
“Midnight,” they whisper in unison. Richie wrapped the watch around his wrist once more. Eddie heaved a long sigh.

  
“Ready?” says Richie, holding out his arm. Eddie bumped their elbows together light-heartedly.

  
“Ready.”

  
_____________

  
The party is in full swing by the time they get there. They’re not really friends with Greta Keene per se, in fact, Eddie was fairly certain that she either: A, didn’t know they existed, or B, completely despised them. Richie and Eddie didn’t really have any other friends except for each other, so they didn’t get invited to these parties by extension, either. Richie was well liked by most people, despite his tendencies to talk too much, which meant he spent most of his time in detention or in the chokehold of someone from Henry Bowers’ gang of idiots, which was pretty much a guaranteed trip to detention anyway. Eddie was just the weird germaphobe kid who sounded and looked like he hadn’t hit puberty yet, and who followed Richie Tozier around like a lost puppy.

  
_That was a pretty good description_ , Eddie thought as he held tightly onto the back of the stupid Hawaiian shirt, half of a palm tree clasped in his hand. Richie was being sociable like he always was, slipping in and out of fake accents and nick-names for people that Eddie was positive he hadn’t seen since middle school.

  
“Heya Stan The Man!” Stanley Uris, who Eddie had in most of his advanced classes, snapped his head away from the person he was talking to, looking for the source of Richie’s voice. Bill Denbrough spotted them first when Richie adds, “and Big Bill! Fancy seeing you here!”  
Bill and Stan wave awkwardly at the duo. Richie keeps moving through the crowd, yelling at other people over the music, but Eddie lifts a hand and moves it once, in a _sorry about him_ kind of gesture- but they smile like they understand. Eddie opens his mouth to question them, but they are out of sight before he can.

  
“Miss Marsh!” Cheers Richie in his best British accent, directed towards the girl that Eddie only vaguely recognizes as the girl that Richie smokes with. “I miss seeing you underneath the bleachers! The smell of old pot and sweaty football players mixed with the midsummer light-“

  
“-makes _anyone_ look beautiful,” She finishes, her accent just as bad. Richie stops in front of her, letting Eddie run into his back.

  
Richie turns to her boyfriend and drops the accent. “Ah, and Benny-Boy! You’re looking just as good as your lady.”

  
Ben Hanscom turns as red as Marsh’s hair. He notices Eddie first.  
“Oh. Hi, uh…”

  
Richie gets to it first. “Eddie! Eds! My Eddie-Spaghetti!” Richie tugs Eddie so he is standing flush against his chest.

  
Eddie rolls his eyes and pretends not to care that Ben clearly doesn’t remember him from their freshman PE class and junior year sociology. “Don’t call me that.”

  
The song changes as Richie puts his chin on top of Eddie’s head. “He’d rather I call him baby.” Eddie could just picture the shit-eating grin on his face.

  
Somehow, he manages to pull himself out of Richie’s embrace. “We need a drink,” Eddie says, and grabs his companion by the collar of his shirt, not bothering to correct himself.  
Richie doesn’t care, and salutes the two goodbye. Ben waves, and Miss Marsh, in fake seriousness, salutes back.

  
With Eddie in the lead, now, and Richie finally quiet behind him, he started to feel worse. Rich wasn’t keeping him distracted, or calling their attention elsewhere from their impending doom. And his elbow hurt.

  
They reach the kitchen after Eddie wanders between large rooms for a short period of time. Eddie bee-lines for the table covered in drinks, but feels Richie stop in his tracks, attempting to stop his friend.

  
Eddie turns reluctantly. “What, Rich?”

  
“Don’t you want to…” Richie’s eyes flick down to Eddie’s arm then back up to his face. Eddie’s skin prickles with Richie’s heavy gaze, his hair standing up.

  
Eddie takes his hand from Richie’s collar, says, “tequila first. Band-aid second,” then moves towards the counter covered in red solo cups. Richie follows, deflated.

  
Richie and Eddie did not get drunk often, and they strictly do it while they are alone in Richie’s basement. Maggie and Wentworth Tozier were absent more often as they got older, leaving the liquor cabinet locked but the key in their bedroom. Eddie was more of a drinker than Richie was, which would surprise just about anybody, but with his tiny body, couldn’t handle very much anyway. It felt a bit like a cleansing, like the alcohol would wash away the dirt and the grime that lay at the surface; the shit that Eddie could pretend was never there in the first place. Richie just made sure that Eddie didn’t do anything that he would surely regret later.

  
The first time they got drunk, Eddie threw up on himself and cried in the bathtub in his underwear while Richie cleaned him up. That’s what he said, anyway. Eddie didn’t remember.

  
Eddie _did_ remember the morning after, hungover and squeezed into Richie’s twin-sized bed wearing a band t-shirt that was four sizes too big and pajama pants that were several inches too long. Eddie recalls it being so warm but so nice, he was afraid to move in case he woke Richie up. Eddie’s head rested on Richie’s chest, his hand pressed to his bare stomach, just above the hairs that lead down into Richie’s underwear, taunting Eddie with every second that he had looked at them.

  
He had fallen back asleep at some point, and woke up to Richie handing him a plate of eggs and two bananas, setting a mug of coffee down on his bedside table. Eddie barely got to say _thank you_ before Richie was rattling off all of the shit Eddie had done to embarrass himself the previous night.

  
It was Richie’s turn to bump into Eddie’s back as he stops at the table, grabbing a cup and a bottle of clear liquid. He pours it unceremoniously, then passes it to Richie before reaching for another. “Drink up.”

  
Rich steps between Eddie and the table. “I’m not drinking tonight, I’m on Spaghetti watch.”  
Thinking back on it, Eddie used to tell Richie that he was glad that they only had each other so that they could never make fools of themselves around the other people at school. But that’s what Richie was for.

  
“Suit yourself,” says Eddie, knocking back the drink be just poured, then takes the one he handed to his friend. “Te-qui-la!” He sing-songs, drinking the second one too.  
Eddie expects Richie to laugh, but he doesn’t. Instead, he rolls his eyes and takes the now empty cups, setting them on the table, then Eddie’s hand. “You’ve had your two shots, ready for nurse Richie?”

  
Blinking, Eddie nods. When Richie turns, he grabs two more random cups off the table, downing them both quickly before jogging to catch up with Richie.

  
Richie takes them out of the kitchen and towards a hallway that they have not yet been down. A long line of people stand outside of a door. “Aha!” Richie cheers, shoving his way to the front of the line with Eddie in tow and ignoring the disapproving shouts of people who have likely been in the line since the beginning of the night. Once at the front, Richie works his magic with the girl yelling at the door. “Good morning, Ripson! Fancy seeing you here? Wouldja mind if me and my friend here use the bathroom next?”

  
Betty Ripsom blows a pink bubble the size of her face, then pops it, continuing to chew on it loudly. “Fuck off, Tozier. Besides, some chick is totally getting laid in there right now. They’ve been up to no good for the last twenty minutes.”

  
Contemplative for a second, Richie turns to face the door directly and pounds on it loudly. “Use a condom!”

  
Betty rolls her eyes and snaps her gum obnoxiously once more. Eddie wants to take it from her mouth and put it in her black hair.

  
As if reading Eddie’s mind, Betty’s eyes move from Richie and down to Eddie, who is still holding onto Richie’s hand. Eddie quickly shakes his hand free, ignoring the hurt look that crosses Richie’s face. “What’s his problem?”

  
“Eds scraped his arm up real bad and needs a band-aid.”

  
Eddie holds up his elbow as if to prove Richie’s point. Richie does that thing that he does when he wants to convince someone to do something that he wants, his mouth falling open in a small, attractive smile and his hips shifting forward just the slightest bit. One of his hands runs through his hair and his glasses slip down his nose just the slightest. If Eddie wasn’t his best friend, he is certain that he would fall for Richie’s spell.

  
A pink tongue slips through Richie’s lips. Eddie almost faints.

  
Betty looks completely smitten as well, her face turning red. “There’s a bathroom in the basement that no one should be using. Greta says its off-limits.”

  
Straightening up and returning to normal as if nothing has happened, Richie finger guns at Betty and wraps an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “I owe you one, Miss Ripsom!”

  
Betty leans in close, level with Eddie, and blows another large bubble, popping it scarily close to his face. Eddie jumps once it bursts, and Betty laughs, maintaining eye-contact with him. “Whatever you say, Tozier. Stairs are further down the hall.”

  
Richie turns and leaves, tugging Eddie along with him. Eddie’s eyes do not leave Betty’s until she, too, is gone with the crowd.

  
Sure enough, the basement is empty, like Betty promised. They turn on a light and close the door to the stairs behind them so that no one will follow. The basement is one large room for the most part, a door in the corner that Eddie assumes is the aforementioned bathroom.  
“Woah, man cave,” says Richie. Eddie has to agree, taking in the sight of the giant TV and the pool and foosball tables. There’s a little kitchen that Eddie can only guess has already been ransacked for alcohol, and marks in the carpet against the wall, like a sound system has been taken upstairs. “Let’s do body shots on the pool table, Eds.”

  
There’s something akin to hurt behind Rich’s joking tone.

  
Richie helps him down the stairs, because after the first step Eddie almost trips and falls down them entirely.

  
The bathroom is entirely too little to fit both of them, but they manage. It looks like the only part of the basement that hasn’t been completely taken over by Mr Keene, the walls painted an ugly shade of pink and there is an ugly, furry pink toilet seat that almost hurts to look at. Eddie sits on the counter, his ass almost in the sink, while Richie digs through the cupboard underneath for the first-aid kit. There is music coming from upstairs that Eddie can almost make out the words to. He thinks that maybe if he wasn’t such a lightweight, it would be easy.

  
Richie’s curly head reappears next to Eddie’s knee when he bumps Richie’s shoulder with his foot. They look at each other for a few seconds, Richie’s face vacant of emotion and Eddie’s probably showing too much.

  
Eddie feels warm, even though the linoleum of the counter underneath him is cold. Richie goes back underneath the sink without a word.

  
The Richie that Eddie sees every other day of the year is not the one he has been with tonight, and will probably never see again.

  
Eddie is shaking his head to himself when Richie comes back up, a small white kit in his hand. “Arm please.”

  
Eddie sticks out his arm.

  
First, Richie wipes the scrape clean with a disinfectant wipe, then covers it with a white cream. His fingers are delicate, just barely ghosting over Eddie’s skin, like Richie is afraid he is going to break. Eddie thinks that, maybe, under Richie’s touch, he just might.

  
Finally, a white bandage is wrapped around Eddie’s arm, effectively covering the elbow and the wound that had been bothering Eddie for the last hour.

  
Richie affectionately pats his work, then puts the contents back into the box. Eddie watches, tapping his fingers anxiously against the counter. Without Richie touching him and the scrape no longer an immediate worry, he releases a breath that he didn’t know he had been holding.

  
“Rich?” Eddie says, all too quiet.

  
“Mhm?” He is underneath the sink again.

  
“Do you think Betty Ripsom is pretty?”

  
A loud thump echoes between them when Richie hits his head. He stands up quickly and makes an effort to look like what Eddie said doesn’t affect him. His face is quickly turning pink.

  
“She’s…”

  
“You can say she is.” Eddie hops off the counter and only wobbles a little bit. Richie stares at Eddie, a look on his face that Eddie had never seen before.

  
“She’s not exactly my type, Eddie.” His voice is tight as he runs his hand through his hair, stopping at the back of his neck where he hit it coming up. Richie looks Eddie up and down, then goes to leave. Eddie wonders what that means, in the grand scheme of things. He should know Richie’s _type_ by now.

  
_____________

  
The music gets quieter as they head towards town, rounding the corner and exiting the subdivision where Greta’s house is. Eddie realizes that they didn’t even see the host herself.  
The stars are still out. Richie stares up at them as they walk, and they glitter in the reflection of his glasses.

  
The two boys no longer walk side by side, their bikes in between them.

  
_What has happened to us?_ Eddie thinks, his thoughts still a little fuzzy despite his last drink being an hour before. _It’s not like one of us is dying._

  
It feels a little like that, though.

  
The sun will rise. They will return to their park at exactly 6:00 am. They will carve their names into the tether ball post. They will say goodbye. Farewell. So long. Adios, ciao, au revoir. Adieu, adieu, adieu.

  
_Remember me._ Eddie doesn’t think he could ever possibly forget. Sneaking out and jumping off of swings and playing video games are the kind of things that make or break a person, he decides. Memories are worth nothing if there is not another person to make them with; if there is no hand to hold when the cliff seems too high, will Eddie jump? If there is no one to play _Mortal Kombat_ with, will Eddie go to arcades? Will Eddie still jump from the swings or sneak out of his new home?

  
**HERE LIES EDWARD KASPBRAK** **  
HE MISSED HIS BEST FRIEND TOO MUCH**.

  
Eddie pictures that carved into the post at the park, surrounded by a heart with an arrow going through it. He wonders what Richie’s would say.

  
They each Main Street in just a few minutes from Greta’s house, and reach the shop in even less time.

  
The only thing that had been keeping Eddie sane in the quiet was their heavy footsteps and the gears shifting of their bikes. Now, they stop, and the silence falls once more. Eddie wants to throw his bike on the ground and grab his best friend by the collar and scream, _“what did I do to you, what did I do?”_

  
He doesn’t. Rather, he watches Richie pull a ring of keys out from his pocket and flip through them, before finding the right one and unlocking the door. The sign on the door, reading closed, hits against the glass as Richie pushes it open. Eddie flinches, worried that someone will see them sneaking into the shop at ungodly hours of the morning.

  
Richie took the job at Suicide Notes the previous summer, and had formed something like a relationship with the sleek grand piano they kept on a little stage towards the back. He also liked the cheap CDs and records, and the minimal amount of work he had to do because the owners liked when Richie played, keeping the shoppers entertained.

  
Suicide Notes wasn’t a huge place, but they had one wall dedicated to string instruments and another for the records, while towards the back held the stage for local musicians and bands to play and make a few tips. Whenever it wasn’t in use, Richie would be up there, playing the grand piano, whether it was for an upcoming audition or just for fun.

  
Richie didn’t have a grand at home. Just a shitty, out-of-tune upright that he wasn’t even allowed to play too loud, because he had little sisters who need the quiet and parents who work too much and need the peace.

  
Eddie takes a few seconds to follow Rich inside, afraid, but manages to force himself inside. Richie is already in the back, having practically sprinted, hopping onto the stage and cracking his knuckles, sliding onto the sleek black bench in front of the piano is matches.  
He plays _Für Elise_ , first, just the first forty seconds or so, then stops during one of the repeated eighth note rhythms.

  
“Oh, how I will miss you, baby.” Richie rests his forehead against the part that would usually hold music, having a moment with his piano. “No other grand will be quite as stunning as you.”

  
Eddie opens his mouth to make some sort of joke, like _don’t call me bab_ y or something equally as stupid, but Richie is quick to place his hands back onto the ivories and jump into another song, this one slower and not easily recognizable.

  
Eddie didn’t think there would ever be a day where he was afraid to approach Richie.  
He moves anyway, like one would approach a bomb that is about to explode. Sits down next to Rich on the bench gingerly and keeps his own hands in his lap. The song picks up speed once Eddie is seated, the rhythm changing into something moving and rounded.  
Richie has about two looks when he plays piano. The first is a look that Eddie sees often, like during tests or when Eddie is playing a particularly good _Mortal Kombat_ game. He gets all focused and frowny with his back straight and arms outstretched, moving up and down the keys with elegance.

  
The second being almost relaxed. How he plays when he is by himself on stage, or when he plays with one of his little sisters with his big hands over their small ones. When he’s trying to make Eddie smile by playing his favorite songs, grinning over the top and suppressing giggles, but not missing a single note.

  
This.

  
This is an entirely new look.

  
Richie looks so intense, _angry_ almost, that if you just saw his face, you would imagine him playing some loud, thundering piece, enough to wake up all of Derry. Not this soft, gentle piece that makes Eddie want to crawl into bed with his arms wrapped tightly around his best friend, curing him of any of his woes or worries. The emotion it is conveying is not the one the man next to him wears.

  
Eddie’s eyes flick between Richie’s hands, which are both moving up and down quickly, and his face, which is partially covered by his curly hair. It takes Eddie almost three minutes to notice that behind the curls and the glasses that have slipped down Richie’s nose, he is crying.

  
“Rich,” Eddie says, and is surprised when his voice sounds steady and calm, not at all like how he feels. “Richie, stop.”

  
The music still fills the air, and Eddie can practically feel Richie cranking up the intensity switch in his brain. His fingers move faster and the notes get louder until the piece reaches as halt, just two fingers left on the white, holding two long notes. Eddie suspects that Richie moves to continue onto another movement, but stops him before he can by placing a firm hand against his chest. “ _Stop_ , Rich.”

  
He does.

  
He turns and faces Eddie, his eyes wide and full of tears, and practically collapses into Eddie’s open arms, sobs coursing through his body like the music that he was just playing.  
“I don’t want to go,” says Richie after a few minutes of Eddie whispering whatever comes to his mind into his hair. “I’m going to miss you too much.”

  
Richie pulls back and stares at his smaller friend. “Julliard is going to be full of pretentious douches and none of them will ever compare to my Spaghetti Man.”

  
Eddie manages to laugh, somehow. “You’ll fit right in.”

  
Rich doesn’t laugh but smiles meekly. It seems as genuine as he can muster. Their faces are close, Eddie could lean in and just-

  
Facing the piano once more, Richie looks down at the keys. “ _Nuvole Bianche_ ,” he says with perfect pronunciation, “it’s what I played for my audition.”

  
Eddie doesn’t have to say what they are both thinking aloud. _I wish you hadn’t gotten in._

  
They should be going to California together. That’s what the plan had always been.  
Escape Derry together. Conquer the world together. Be together. No matter what.

  
Eddie is going alone. And Richie is going to become some world famous pianist while Eddie becomes some world famous doctor.

  
And the memories will be gone. They will be fifty years old with spouses and kids and successful lives and they will think: “what ever happened to that friend I had when I was twelve?”

  
Richie starts playing again, picking up where he left off. It doesn’t sound the same. Eddie can’t place exactly where the emotion has shifted.

  
Instead of the desire to wrap Richie up in his arms, Eddie feels as though he wants to cover his hands in glue, grab Richie in one hand and the swingset in their park with the other, and never, ever leave.

  
Without thinking, Eddie scoops up Richie’s hand closest to him, his right, and holds it tightly in his own. The music stops abruptly and they are left in silence once more. Richie sniffs back more tears that do not come, and does not question Eddie.

  
If he cannot glue them together for eternity, then he will settle for the next few hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: richie is too dumb to realize that Beverly and BEV are the same person. Its not a mistake :)
> 
> My tumblr: tenlittle-cockbites


	4. morning and goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the end of the road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO HAS COMMENTED, LIKED, BOOKMARKED, MESSAGED ME ON TUMBLR, ETC
> 
> without you my writers block would've gotten the better of me and this chapter would've never been finished. 
> 
> After this we just have the epilogue, which shouldn't take too long to write.

The story goes like this:

Richie’s been playing piano since he was tall enough to get his fingers on the keys. Not that the Tozier’s ever owned a piano before Richie, but the one at church had always fascinated the child, long before anyone realized that he was a prodigy. So Maggie and Wentworth invested in a cheap piano once Richie turned five and payed for a piano teacher three times a week. Richie always told Eddie that he thinks that they thought he would grow out of it eventually- or that he’d get tired of smashing the keys and move onto something else that made just as much noise. But Richie latched on, and was one of the best pianists that Derry had ever seen by the time he was fifteen, a promising candidate to follow in Sharon Denbrough’s footsteps all the way to Juilliard.

Richie never really cared for the idea, but applied anyway. Auditioned with his favorite song and the one he had known the longest, and practiced more than he did already, rarely seeing Eddie between practices before and after school, then in his own bedroom at night. He didn’t think he would get in, had already filled out half of the application for the University of California, where Eddie was going. But then he got in.  _ He got in. _

Now here they are, alone in Suicide Notes while Richie plays through his entire repertoire. 

Eddie had fallen asleep at some point, on one of the chairs set up in the middle, while Richie had been playing something that Eddie vaguely remembered being by Pachelbel, or so Richie had told him. But he woke to the watch alarm going off, over by where Richie still sat at the piano, playing something with sheet music in front of him. He doesn’t seem bothered by the beeping.

Standing and stretching, Eddie moves slowly over to his friend. Richie rarely needs sheet music, unless he’s learning something new. It’s hard to tell that he doesn’t know this song as well as he does usually, but Eddie can. There isn’t the usual emotion behind the piece, doesn’t move quite as freely as it would if Richie wasn’t going through the motions.

When Richie notices Eddie standing next to the stage, he doesn’t stop playing, but lifts one hand and quickly shuts off the beeping. The lower, moving tones of the music stops briefly, but picks up again after a few seconds.

“I don’t know this one,” says Eddie.

“I got bored while you took a power nap.” Richie’s left hand crosses over his right to play something higher while the right goes lower. Eddie is frozen for a moment, struck by the beauty and expertise that Richie holds in his hands, then is brought back out of his thoughts when Richie continues. “Franz Liszt.  _ Liebestraum _ . But for you, Eddie Spaghetti, we’ll call it  _ Love Dream _ .”

Eddie tries not to blush but can only imagine how spectacularly he fails. For once, he is glad that Richie is not paying him much attention. “I always forget that you know some German.”

“ Die meisten pianisten , danke.”

“Just sounds like a bunch of  _ sten _ to me.”

The piano stops, and Richie hops off of the bench. He moves to get off the stage, but then doubles back and grabs the sheet music. “That’s about ninety percent of the German I know anyway.” Richie jumps off the stage and lands next to Eddie. “Oh, and some music terms.  _ Fröhlich, leidenschaft, rasch- _ ”

“Okay, I get it.”

Richie doesn’t stop, instead moving closer to him and wrapping Eddie up in his arms while he tried desperately to wiggle away.

“ _ Ziemlich, ausdruck, feurig- _ ”

“The accent is the worst part!” Eddie squeals, but Richie ducks down, placing his mouth against Eddie’s neck and face, peppering him with sloppy kisses. “You are  _ lieblich _ , Spaghetti, so  _ wenig _ , so  _ zart- _ ”

Eddie manages to push him away, his face flushed pink, but both boys are smiling despite themselves. “You’re so weird.”

“You’ll miss me, Eds.”

He’s right. Eddie wants to leave the building and announce it to the streets, shout it from the rooftops, or tattoo it across his face. Eddie wants to grab Richie by the collar, cover his mouth with his own, and hope that the message will get across.

Instead, he says, “in your dreams.” It doesn’t feel right coming from his mouth.

Richie takes a step towards the door, but pauses briefly when Eddie grabs his hand, the one not holding the sheet music, and laces their fingers together. He waits anxiously for Richie to say something, but nothing comes. Richie just turns his head and gives Eddie the brightest smile he’s ever given him, then turns and continues to the front of the store. Eddie is helplessly tugged along.

When they are outside by their bikes, Eddie takes a moment to admire the rising run. He must’ve been asleep for a while. Richie’s watch was set to go off at 6:00 am. They left the party around 3:00.

The door clicks as Richie locks it. Eddie turns and looks at him once more, taking Richie in. Bathing in his presence. Richie is all sharp angles and bruises. A few of his fingers have band-aids. His hair needs to be trimmed before he is shipped off to Julliard. Eddie likes him like this.

“Richie,” Eddie whispers. “I love you.”

Shock crosses Richie’s face momentarily, then he turns soft. “I love ya too, Eds.”

Eddie can count on his fingers the amount of times they’ve told each other that they love the other. Like the first time, when Richie was angry about something his parents had done and they were laying in the sun at the quarry, or after Eddie had broken Richie’s glasses. The last time they had watched the sunrise together, underneath their tree with tears in their eyes while they talked about their secrets and fears.

“I never told you enough. I regret it.”

Richie tosses a long arm around Eddie’s shoulders and watches the sun come up, too. Perhaps they haven’t really changed, Eddie thinks. Grown a little taller, swear a little more. Eddie doesn’t take his medicine anymore and his inhaler has long since been shoved in the back of a drawer. Richie still makes questionable fashion decisions.

“We have the rest of our lives, Eddie.” Richie sounds sincere, but Eddie avoids looking at his face. “We’re getting out of this stupid town.”

But not together. 

Eddie’s heart sinks into his stomach. In an hour, Eddie will be back in his house and loading up his mother’s old car, and they will drive to the airport a few towns over. Eddie will be in his dorm by dinnertime, with a boy who is not Richie.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees half heartedly. He does not want to think about the inevitable demise of their friendship. He tugs himself away. “We should get back. One more thing left to do, right?”

The boys connect eyes, reading each other’s thoughts seamlessly.

Richie nods. “Right.”

They do not race to the park, they do not even ride their bikes. They walk side by side, hand in hand, and take their time getting to their park. What would usually be a ten minute bike ride turns into a thirty minute leisurely stroll. When the park comes into view, the sun almost completely in the sky, Eddie feels dread all the way down to his toes. 

The bikes are leaned up against the tree, but will not remain for much longer. Crossing the final threshold, walking towards the tetherball post, almost brings Eddie to tears immediately.

_ I won’t cry. _ He thinks.  _ I won’t do it. _

“It’s hard to believe we put this part off for so long,” Richie says to break the heavy quiet, “six years. And we never wrote on this thing.”

Eddie stares up at the towering figure in front of him, not the one beside him. They had been holding back, for some reason. Some unspoken rule that they wouldn’t write on it until they were sure they wouldn’t be returning. Maybe they’d come back, one day. But they won’t be the same kids they were.

It’s hard to believe that there was ever a time where they weren’t RichieAndEddie.

It’s hard to believe that soon, in just a few minutes, they won’t be RichieAndEddie anymore. They will be Richie and Eddie, who live three thousand miles away from each other. Richie and Eddie, who left each other broken hearted.

“Not even a shitty penis,” mumbles Eddie.

They’d thought painstakingly throughout the summer and even a little before about what they would be carving into this thing. It felt so  _ important _ , like the one thing they could leave behind in Derry that would be worth anything. It was something that no one else would know about until some other kids, maybe around their age or younger, came along and found their park and reclaimed it as their own. 

There had been so much build up to this moment. Now that they’re here, it feels like a bit of a lackluster ending. So much had happened up to this point.

Still, Eddie takes the ring of keys that Rich passes to him, insisting that his handwriting isn’t good enough for the momentous occasion, picking a random one and beginning to carve the letters into the old wood.

Richie leans against the side Eddie isn’t writing on, humming under his breath. Eddie recognizes it as  _ Love Dream. _

It takes a few minutes to get the letters thick enough to be legible. When he’s done, Eddie steps back and admires his work, Richie following with a lopsided smile on his face.

“It was worth the wait,” Richie adds. Eddie wonders if he’s talking about carving into the post or the past six years they’ve spent together.

He looks at it for few more seconds, then turns to face the rest of the park.

The rusty swing and slides. The playground that’s close to falling apart. The lopsided merry-go-round, the spring animals. Eddie would miss them all. But he’d gladly give up the park forever if that meant Richie would be by his side wherever he went. He’d tear it down himself, if he could.

Eddie jumps when Richie’s watch goes off. It’s time.

The boys face each other, both wearing expressions of loss and confusion.

“Eddie, I-”

“Listen-”

Both laugh awkwardly. Eddie isn’t sure who reaches first, but suddenly they are wrapped up in each other’s arms, Eddie’s around Richie’s neck and Richie’s around Eddie’s middle. Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever been hugged tighter, not by his mother or anyone. The soft breath in his ear and the hands pressed tightly to his lower back feel more like home than Derry ever has or California ever will.

Something nags in the back of his brain, forcing its way to the front. A million alarms go off, but Eddie still opens his mouth.

“Rich,” Eddie says, his voice cracking on the last syllable. It sounds more desperate than he means. Rich pulls pack, just a little, but it still feels too far. “I love you, Richie.”

Richie hunches, almost, to bump their foreheads together. Eddie’s heart is beating so fast he is sure that Richie can feel it. “I love you too, Eddie-”

“No, Richie. I’m  _ in _ love with you.”

Richie’s mouth falls open comedically.

Eddie starts to ramble nervously. “I, I don’t know when, but I had to tell you before I left, I couldn’t just leave you here and I don’t want you to forget about me-”

“Eds, I could never forget about you,” Richie quickly buts in, out of his state of shock.

Eddie snaps his mouth shut, afraid of what comes next. 

They’re so close now, Eddie can feel Richie’s breathing on his face. Can feel his hair on his forehead and this hands on his back and the toes of his shoes against his own- Eddie is suddenly so conscious to every part of Richie that is touching him that he barely even notices when Richie ducks down and presses their lips together.

Richie tastes like nicotine, that’s what Eddie notices first. Second, he notices that Richie’s mouth is far softer than he had ever thought, then realizes that he has thought about kissing Richie more than he is willing to admit.

A hand moves into Eddie’s hair when hands move to the sides of Richie’s face, one of them taking Richie’s glasses off and tucking them into Richie’s t-shirt, making more room for Eddie’s wandering hands.

He almost imagines fireworks, or a final puzzle piece sliding into place.

When they seperate, they do not go far, sharing heavy breaths between their mouths. Eddie is not sure how much time has passed. But the sun is completely up directly behind Richie, giving him a sort of halo.

“You’re killing my back, Eds,” Richie whispers, not maliciously. 

Eddis steps back, his hands moving down Richie’s arms to his hands, holding them tightly.  _ Time to go.  _

“I have to go, Richie. Before my mom wakes up.”

“Ah, Mrs. K.” Richie puts on a fake dreamy look. “We’ll finally have the next few days all to ourselves to make sweet, sweet lo-”

“Please don’t joke about fucking my mom after I just told you I’m in love with you and you kissed me.”

Richie’s cheeks turn pinker than they already were. He hugs Eddie once more, just for a few seconds. “I love you too, Eddie. Since I was twelve.”

Eddie takes one step back, then another, until they are separated by a foot or so, their hands till held tightly together. He does not want to let go, he will not let go, he-

He lets go, backing up/

“See you, Richie.”

Richie salutes him. Eddie thinks there might be tears in his eyes, that he quickly hides by putting his glasses back on.

“Call me when you get to Cali- and tell your roommate that I have dibs, okay?” Richie calls after him, when Eddie reaches their bikes. Eddie laughs and wipes his eyes, turning. He hops on his bike, and with one final wave at his best friend, turns onto the road and pedals back into town, thinking about Richie and the future ahead of him.

They’ll be okay.

It takes Eddie twelve minutes to get to his house, and another seven to quietly lean his bike up against the back door and climb up to his bedroom window.

It is only when Eddie has shut his window and crawled into his bed does a wide smile crawl across Eddie’s face and the tears spill out of his eyes. He hides his face in his pillow and laughs so hard he is sure that his mother will hear him from downstairs.

As if on cue, Sonia yells up the stairs. “Eddie-Bear? Breakfast is ready!” A beat. “We have to leave soon!”

Eddie goes downstairs after a few minutes of crying and trying to pull himself together, begrudgingly eating the runny eggs and gluten-free toast that Sonia made for him before running upstairs and grabbing his bags, stuffing them into the car.

The car ride is mostly silent, the radio broken, Sonia crying and muttering about how her baby is growing up into a handkerchief every few minutes.

Eddie stares out the window, watching the trees go by. They pass the ‘DERRY WELCOMES YOU’ sign, which makes Eddie smile.

He smiles, as he thinks about leaving this city behind, and smiles thinking about Richie, and their park. His smile widens so much he starts to giggle. He tries to hide it behind his hand, but can’t suppress them.

“Eddie-Bear, are you okay?” His mother asks, looking at him with concern.

“Yes, yes, ma. I’m great.” Eddie manages, thinking back to the post, and the five words he had carved into it. “Never better.”

_ RICHIE AND EDDIE WERE HERE _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: tenlittle-cockbites


	5. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie comes home from college for winter break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy cow i don't even know where to begin
> 
> thank you for all of your constant love and support, and thank you to everyone who posted about this fic on tumblr and spread the word. raewh has gotten so much bigger than i ever thought it would and it is all thanks to you!
> 
> i will be writing more reddie, i promise! i already have a fic in the works. it'll likely be two or three chapters? not really sure yet.
> 
> thanks for sticking around, hope it's everything you hoped it would be!

The worst thing about college, Eddie decides, are the dorms.

His roommate isn’t so bad- George just doesn’t spend very much time in their room, or talking to Eddie. He spends the weekends at parties and the mornings sleeping. Eddie isn’t quite sure where he goes at nights, and doesn’t want to find out. George introduces Eddie to a different girl every couple of weeks, which doesn’t bother Eddie as much as it had the first few times it happened. George doesn’t bother Eddie about anything- so Eddie, after two months and five different girlfriends, let it go.

The actual _room_ , however, took some getting used to. Eddie had never expected to feel claustrophobic- especially with a roommate who is absent ninety percent of the time- but the room was even smaller than Eddie’s back in Derry. with both if them having a bed, a desk, and a dresser, there was barely any breathing room. Eddie himself tried to do all of his homework in the library or in one of the lounges, the room too small to give Eddie the space he needs, yet more often than not found himself up late cramming for a test on his tiny bed. George even walked in during the early hours of the morning and found Eddie passed out on his textbooks, which covered both desks.

Eddie got used to the little room eventually. Fell into a routine, of sorts. George doesn’t do much studying, as far as Eddie could tell, and lets him take his desk for more study room. The girl who sits next to him in his British literature class suggests opening the window and getting a plant, and promises that it’ll make the room feel more alive. It works pretty well, like a breath of fresh air, and even George seems to appreciate it, the few times Eddie catches him while he is awake. He talks a little bit more, and even asks Eddie about the pictures that he keeps on his wall. Eddie is quick to change the subject after George inquires about how they’re almost entirely pictures of a boy with curly black hair and stupid glasses.

The one problem he hasn’t found a proper solution for is the bathrooms.

The communal bathrooms are close to being the grossest thing Eddie has ever encountered. He wears sandals so his feet won’t touch the ceramic tiles and doesn’t touch any surface without something covering his hands. It got so bad that around mid-october Eddie starts taking medication again, afraid of whatever lies in all of the nooks and crannies of those damn bathrooms.

George says he must’ve had a pretty fucked up childhood. Eddie tells him that he has _no_ idea.

The journey home for Christmas is much welcomed. A room that isn’t the size of a closet all to himself! A bathroom that is _always_ scrubbed clean! Snow, and cold air!

Eddie never thought he would be happy to return to Derry. There are a lot of things wrong in Eddie’s world, these days.

Getting off the plane and entering the snowy state of Maine is a much needed shock to his system. California is hot and dry and stifling- it has its moments, but Eddie needs a break. Not coming home for Thanksgiving was a decision mostly for his sanity and his wallet. Two flights just for the winter holidays was already too much.

His mother rattles on and on about all of the gossip that he’s missed. Eddie ignored most of her calls while he was away, but she never let that deter her, and was happy to hear that Eddie had started his medication again. Eddie was content to just sit back and listen, watching the snowy trees fly by.

They pass the ‘DERRY WELCOMES YOU’ sign. Eddie feels happy to see it for the first time in his life. Unconsciously, Eddie drowns out the sound of Sonia and glances down at his phone held tightly in his hands. No new messages.

 _It’s not like he’d know_ , Eddie reminds himself, _It’s not like he cares_.

It wasn’t his fault. There wasn’t anything either of them could do.

Eddie saw pictures of him, sometimes, on Facebook or Instagram or other various social media. He never really looked much like himself, but he did look happy, most of the time. His hair is shorter and his glasses are new. Eddie doesn’t think he had ever seen him dressed up before he saw some of the pictures on his profile. A neat suit adorned with a slick black bow-tie was all Eddie ever saw him wear, at least through the computer screen. He accepted awards and played at fancy events and was _doing_ something with his life. Eddie had a few more years before he could even _begin_ to think about his future.

It doesn’t bother Eddie. Not like it did at first.

Sonia is saying something that catches Eddie’s attention. “-aught her with some boy in the confessional, can you believe it? The _confessional!_ I blame that brother of hers, he was always up to no good. I don’t know why you were so fond of him, Eddie-Bear-”

Eddie taps his fingers against his thigh and stares straight ahead at the road. He isn’t sure what to say.

“-a shame that he was so _smart_ , you know, and so _gifted_. God only knows why he was such a little terror, and now his sister, too! Poor Maggie, hopefully those twins will turn out more well behaved-”

Eddie shuts her out once more and pretends to be interested in something on his phone. A black and white picture of familiar hands on a familiar piano briefly catches his eye, but Eddie does not stop to dwell on it. Thinking too much about it makes it worse.

It is late evening by the time the car pulls up next to the curb and Sonia heaves herself out of the car and waddles up to the door, not bothering to offer to help Eddie carry his stuff inside. He holds back an eyeroll, sure his mother would be able to tell even from far away, and shrugs his backpack over his shoulders and tugs his suitcase down the concrete path and up the stairs. Inside, it is the same, plastic still over all of the furniture in the living room and plastic plants on every flat surface- a failed attempt to make the house look lived in. It still smells like cleaning supplies and his mother’s strong lilac perfume, which tickles at Eddie’s nose and makes him want to sneeze. It might take some getting used to to be able to stand in the heavily scented first floor without getting a headache again.

To the right, in the kitchen, Sonia is pulling out ingredients for a meal that Eddie can only assume is the healthiest thing he will have eaten in months. His stomach churns uncomfortably thinking about the gluten-free, vegetable rich substance that he will be consuming soon.

Eddie checks the clock on his phone. It is almost 11:00 pm.

“Ma, I think I’m going to go to bed. Long day, you know.” Not really. It’s only 8:00 in California.

Sonia seems to understand though. “Oh yes, you must have jet-lag, I heard all about it on the news the other morning, and Andrea was telling about how jet-lagged her son was after he got home-”

 _That’s because Stan studies birds in Australia, now_ , Eddie wants to say. Instead, he just smiles and says, “I’m sure that’s it. Goodnight, Ma. Love you.”

Mrs Kaspbrak kisses both of Eddie’s cheeks. “I’ll save some veggie soup for you to eat tomorrow, okay, Eddie-Bear?”

Lugging his bags up the stairs is an ordeal and a half, but he manages to get into his childhood bedroom in just a few minutes. It feels like an auditorium compared to how his dorm room felt, with two windows and just one bed and closet. Eddie releases a breath that he didn’t know he had been holding, breathing in the air that has not been contaminated by cleaning supplies and perfume. His bed still smells like him, though it is clean and done up for his arrival.

He all but gracefully falls into his bed, not even bothering to take off his coat and shoes, stuffing his face into the comforter and breathing it in.

He has only been laying there for a few minutes when his phone, abandoned on the floor next to his bed where he dropped it, buzzes obnoxiously. He does not move until it vibrates once more. Eddie groans and reaches for it, holding it up to his face. The brightness alarms him, at first, but even more alarming are the texts on the screen.

The first reads: _Heard you’re home, little upset you didn’t call as soon as you passed that sign_ . Then, _park?_

Eddie stares at it for a few minutes, contemplating his options. It’s been five months. They haven’t talked in four.

He sits up and glances at the door, listening for Sonia downstairs, then to the window.

Eddie has never climbed out the window faster.

**_____________**

Eddie no longer feels afraid as he walks to the park, not like he did before. Instead he feels just uneasy, unsure of what awaits for him. He doesn’t even think about how the crunching of snow underneath his shoes sounds like the way a head does when it hits the ice, or about how his fingers are starting to turn white at the tips.

The park looks the same way it does every winter, the equipment is piled up with snow and it is clear that it hasn’t been visited since the day they left it. It’s even a little spooky, more so than it usually is, dark and foreboding.

The only thing that keeps Eddie walking towards it is the figure that sits on the swing on the right.

Eddie stops in front of it, staring at him. Eddie had _always_ been on the swing on the right. That had never changed. Not once in eight years.

“Eddie,” says the man on the swings.

“ _Richie_ ,” says Eddie, letting himself say his name aloud for the first time in four months.

It’s him, but it doesn’t look much like him. He looks like he does in the pictures, his hair short and his glasses brand new, but he isn’t dressed up. In fact, the only thing that’s really the dead giveaway that Eddie is looking at his best friend is the awful sense of fashion. Tonight he is wearing one of those heavy green army coats that hangs open and reveals a sweatshirt with ‘JULLIARD’ in blue letters across the front, tight ripped jeans with the ankles rolled up, and dirty sneakers that barely poke out of the snow. His curls just barely poke out underneath, which usually would’ve been been spilling out.

Eddie almost wants to wait for Richie to approach him first, but finds himself moving to sit on the left.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

He certainly sounds like himself.

Eddie brushes the snow off of the swing and sits with his hands in his lap, focusing on the merry-go-round across from him. The swing creaks under both of their weight. Richie moves back and forth but doesn’t commit to full on swinging, keeping his feet planted to the ground.

“Well, here I am.” Eddie can feel Richie’s eyes on him, but doesn’t give into the gaze.

“How has school been?”

“Great.” Richie scoffs, Eddie rolls his eyes. “ _Fine_. It’s fine. What about you?”

“ _Great_ ,” Richie mocks, but it sounds genuine. “I’ve been learning _Feux d'artifice_ for a concert I have after I get back, and I’m really starting to get a handle on it, although a lot of people consider it the hardest Debussy piece. I played _Poisson d'or_ for a charity event in October which was much harder in my opinion, even Audra couldn’t play it, and she’s super good-” Richie cuts himself off, then looks back over at Eddie, who is staring at him now. “Sorry. I’ve been trying to learn to shut up, the other kids at school say that I only stop talking while I’m on stage, which is partly true, I guess-”

“Jesus, you’re talking more now than the last time I saw you.” Eddie can’t hide his smile, though.

Richie grins. “Making up for lost time, I guess. Tell me about you.”

Eddie rubs his hands together to warm them and thinks. How has school been for him? He spent his first month of college missing Richie and worrying about the bathrooms and the last three trying _not_ to miss him. His grades were all good, but he could feel himself slowly unraveling. He was even _happy_ to be back in his hometown, in his park, with his Richie.

“It’s been… Okay. My roommate is cool, but he’s gone a lot. The bathrooms are gross as fuck and I’ve started taking anxiety medication just to feel better about it. My mom is happy about that, by the way.”

Richie stares back at him, unblinking behind his big glasses. Even in the almost complete dark, Eddie can see his crooked nose and paint splatter freckles. They’re not even that close, but Eddie can see every detail of his face. Every freckle, every eyelash, the bump in his nose, the way the right side of his lips turn up more than the left when he smiles.

“I’ve missed you,” says Eddie. He means, _I still love you_.

“I missed you too.” Eddie hears _I still love you too_.

Richie holds out a hand, and Eddie takes it. They shift their swings, so they are looking at each other, slightly angled. Eddie doesn’t feel all that different, all of a sudden. He feels like he’s twelve again, crying over something dumb while Richie cracks to make him feel better. Or thirteen, where the roles are reversed, and fourteen, talking about girls without much meaning behind it, and fifteen and sixteen and seventeen until they were eighteen and kissing and telling each other they loved each other.

“Why did we ever stop talking?” Eddie asks, squeezing Richie’s hand.

Richie kicks at the pile of snow he has made beneath him with his feet. “I don’t know. I got busy with school stuff, and I’m sure you did too- we just had important things to focus on.”

“You’re important,” Eddie breathes, and it makes Richie smile. “You’re the most important part of my life.”

“You’re important to me too, Eds.” Eddie doesn’t even care about the stupid nickname. “You could break all of my fingers and I wouldn’t even care.”

Eddie feels his cheeks get warm. “I won’t do that. As long as you don’t annoy me too much.”

Letting go of Eddie’s hand, Richie leans over and shoves at his shoulder playfully. “You’re so mean to me, Spaghetti.”

Eddie takes advantage of Richie being close and grabs his arm, tugging him closer without taking him off the swing completely. Richie exhales quickly, his breath coming out in white puffs close to Eddie’s cheek. Both of them are breathing heavy, waiting for the other to say something first.

“When do you go back to school?” Eddie whispers, practically into Richie’s mouth.

“January something or other. Not for a few more weeks.” Richie’s hand is on the side of Eddie’s, his grip deathly tight.

“Good,” Eddie breathes, and kisses him.

It’s not like the first time. Now, they are familiar, coming back to what is already well known.

When they pull back, Richie is giving him that crooked grin. “You gonna ghost me again, Eds?”

Eddie slaps the side of Richie’s face lightly. “Shut the fuck up, Tozier.”

“You know you love me,” says Richie light-heartedly, but there is a bit of a questioning tone behind it. As if wondering if the words between them four months ago still hold some truth.

Rolling his eyes, Eddie kisses Richie once more. “Of course I do,” Richie smiles into the kiss, and Eddie doesn’t even care. “I’ve never stopped.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: vvinterhavvk
> 
> did you like it? hate it? let me know!

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr: vvinterhavk


End file.
